


The Long Way Home

by TheMoonMoths



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A Marriage of Conveniance, A Mild Corruption Arc for Rey, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Culminating in Dark Rey, F/M, Gray Jedi, In Which TROS Is Just a Bad Dream, Knights of Ren - Freeform, Partially Tagged for Later Chapters, Rey Nobody, Rey takes his hand, Severe Emotional Constipation, Sharing a Bed, Some of Them Will Be Women, Space Virgins, Unresolved Sexual Tension, canonverse, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25809661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMoonMoths/pseuds/TheMoonMoths
Summary: When Kylo Ren offers Rey his hand, she's confronted with another vision. In it, she sees what will happen if she rejects him. How her current path leads to her becoming all the Jedi, all alone on a strange desert planet, with one half of her soul gone.Terrified, she makes a snap decision.She takes his hand.---"If you must know, I would've helped them regardless. But I am staying, and it's for my own reasons."There's a pause."What reasons?" he asks, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.Selfish. They are selfish reasons."It doesn't matter.""It does to me."
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 76
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hello! <3 
> 
> I'll keep this brief so that I can go back to binging Dark, hehe. Time for another canonverse slow(ish) burn! This is an idea I've been kicking around for a long time, the premise is nothing new, but I'll be adding an arranged marriage element to it later on to spice things up. ;) If you're worried about how this ties in with TROS--it doesn't. In terms of this fic's continuity, you can consider it a bad dream. Rey is and will remain a nobody, and Palpatine won't be back. That's about it, I think.
> 
> Happy reading!

"Join me."

He takes a beseeching step towards her, hand outstretched. 

Sparks are slowly falling. Like snowflakes, they vanish as they land on the debris and dead bodies scattered all over the grimy floor. The silence is deafening after the skirmish, his proposal hanging heavy in the air. 

It's just the two of them now. It feels as if the whole world has fallen apart, turned upside down, with Ben and Rey as the last survivors. 

But she knows better.

It's persistent, the screaming at the back of her mind. The fleet is still out there, her _friends_ are still out there, and they're dying. She mustn't lose focus. 

His expression shifts. As she struggles to formulate an answer, the veil of careful impassivity lifts, giving way to something so raw and pained it breaks her heart all over again. She thought she'd seen the real him the first time he'd removed his mask in front of her. 

She'd been wrong.

 _This_ is him, finally. Vulnerable, desperate, waiting with bated breath like it's the verdict on his life that he’s about to hear.

"Please," he whispers, _begs_. 

Scorching hot tears stream down her face. Whatever their differences may be, here and now, the anguish is shared in full. 

Her hand reaches out, almost on its own accord. He hasn't made it fair; the choice he's presenting is no choice at all, and Rey's heart is breaking, breaking, breaking. 

Because she knows what she's supposed to do. What she _has_ to do. 

But then something happens. With a gasp, Rey is plunged into another vision, images flashing before her eyes in quick succession. She tries to make sense of them, grasp at them, but it's like trying to snag flying leaves in a cyclone—they come and go fast, much too fast, always just out of reach.

Finally, she catches a glimpse of something familiar. The face of Finn, her dearest friend, gazing at her with all the warmth and kindness in the world. General Poe Dameron laughing, his head thrown back with mirth. 

Either the stream of imagery has slowed down, or Rey is starting to get a hang of this because she can see more clearly now. Hold on to the visions for a little longer, a little more firmly. 

She sees herself rejecting Ben's offer, his features crumbling into pure rage as she reaches for the blue lightsaber. A Force tug of war that ends in a spectacular explosion. Then, she’s near a flaming TIE-fighter, her face flushed from the heat. Ruins, vast and half-submerged by an angry ocean. There, among the water and wind, a blue lightsaber blade clashes with a crimson one. A breathtaking and eternal void of starlight. A festival of strange humanoids clad in bright robes, their beaded necklaces jangling as they dance. A jungle so muggy it's hard to breathe, her eyes stinging from sweat. 

She sees, sees, _sees_. 

The next thing she knows, she's in a strange desert looking at a sunset. Two ghosts watch over her, their faces sympathetic as she takes in the arid landscape. There's not another living soul as far as the eye can see, and, somehow, she just _knows_ — 

At the end of this journey, Rey is all the Jedi, all alone.

It's a fate worse than death. 

Dark and inexorable dread pools in the pit of her stomach, then seeps into her limbs. 

She comes out of it with a jolt. Somehow, her hand is still outstretched. It feels like a lifetime of experiences has danced in front of her eyes, the deepest of happiness and heartbreak weighing heavy on her, but in real time it was probably closer to a second. Ben's gaze is more alert now, searching her face for answers. Whatever has just occurred, he seems to have noticed. There's a flicker of uncertainty in his expression, and it looks like he's about to inquire, but he doesn't. 

Instead, he waits. 

She acts without thinking—she _can't_ think. This new information is too much to process, too much to handle, just too _much_. All she knows is that the first stop to a destination she wants nothing more than to avoid is her refusing his offer, and she's afraid, so afraid— 

Before she has a chance to get cold feet, she reaches out and clasps his gloved hand. The back of her mind is still screaming, but she's not sure as to why anymore.

His fingers entwine with hers, gently at first. Ben's gaze dips down. He's staring down at where they're joined, mouth slightly parted in disbelief. 

She feels a burst of another emotion, strong and bright as a supernova—but it's not coming from her. 

Raving elation. 

His face doesn't show it, not quite, but there's a wild glint to Ben's eyes, an erratic hitch to his breath that does nothing to quench her worries. The grip on her hand tightens as he pulls her ever so slightly closer. 

They're properly holding hands now. He's nearly bursting at the seams with suppressed emotion, and Rey can't feel anything at all.

"Rey, I—" He swallows. "You made the right choice."

She notices the tears have ebbed. That's good, she thinks. Her mind slugs at too heavy a pace for them, anyway. 

"We'll rule the galaxy together as true equals," he adds. "Nothing and no one will _ever_ hurt us again. We're free, do you understand?"

It barely registers to her that he's speaking. For some reason, she can't stop looking at their clasped hands. 

Had he asked her something? There's an oddly stretched out pause, but Rey can't bring herself to meet his eyes. The only thing on her mind is a silly desire for him to remove his glove. He'd said something about equals, but it doesn't _feel_ like it with his hand still covered up. The leather is sticky with blood and grime, but that's not what bothers her. It's the barrier it creates—wrong, all _wrong_. 

"Say something, Rey."

His pleading tone finally makes her look up. 

"What do you want me to say?"

Not that, apparently. His face falls.

Her heart is pounding in the vicinity of her throat as she takes the deepest of breaths, as she wills the currents of the Force to give her the strength she so desperately needs. She draws just enough to find her voice.

"I'll come with you," she hears herself say. "But I have some terms."

He lets go of her hand. She feels it flop back lifelessly against her side. 

"The offer isn't conditional," he says, his voice taking on a sharper note. "You're either with me or against me."

Rey sighs. "You called us _equals,_ which implies trust. This won't work if we can't cooperate."

"I killed for you."

"What about sparing lives?" she asks hotly. "Can you do that for me?"

He huffs out a mirthless laugh. She's losing him at a rapid pace, she knows, but this is the only way she'll be able to live with herself in the face of the leap of faith she's about to make.

"Is that what this is about?" he asks. "You'll nobly sacrifice yourself for the greater good—become a martyr for those scum to worship. To rescue."

It's difficult to meet his eyes. His gaze burrows underneath her skin far too deep, but she endures it. She must be strong. 

"If you must know, I would've helped them regardless. But I _am_ staying, and it's for my own reasons."

There's a pause. 

"What reasons?" he asks, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

_Selfish. They are selfish reasons._

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

Rey opens her mouth—to say what, exactly, she doesn't know—when the ship _shakes_ to its very core. It must be an explosion of some sort, coming from deep within the innards of the dreadnought, distant but loud enough to know that it's _big_. 

The ear-splitting blast reverberates through every fiber of her being as the debris rattles on the floor. Rey is sent stumbling forward, nearly toppling, but Ben grabs her upper arm and holds her in place. His free hand is slanted down, palm facing the ground, and it hits her that he's using the Force to steady both of them. His grip on her is solid iron until the tremors subside, and then the throne room is enveloped in silence once again, like nothing had happened.

Had the Resistance made a last-ditch counter-attack? Her heart flutters with faraway hope.

"We have to get out of here," Ben says, letting go of her.

"Right."

Rey stretches out of her hand towards him and raises her eyebrows imprudently. He must assume that she wants to hold hands again because, in what looks like an automatic reaction, he's quick to extend his own back. She huffs and swats it aside. 

"My lightsaber," she growls. "Now."

It's the most curious thing, the play of emotions on his face when he's caught off guard. She sees deep confusion there, then a ripple of what appears to be embarrassment, and finally wariness. His gloved fingers tighten around the lightsaber hilt like it's a toy that's about to be taken away.

Her own itch to yank it from him with the Force, but the echoes of her recent vision warn her against it. Their truce is much too threadbare for such a reckless stunt. One wrong move and it would all turn into dust, like the dust she'd glimpsed on that harrowing desert planet— 

Rey grits her teeth and tries a different approach.

"My second demand is that at no point should you have two weapons while I have none." She's doing a very bad job at curbing the irritation in her voice. "It's not _fair_. Surely, you see that."

"It doesn't belong to you," he says, frowning. "You could make a new for yourself, I can show you how—"

"That's wonderful," she interrupts him through gritted teeth, "but I'm defenseless behind enemy lines right _now_. A hypothetical lightsaber won't protect me from stormtroopers who haven't gotten the latest." He purses his lips like a petulant child, but she can see indecision warring on his pale face. Rey sighs. "Look, it's not like I'll be far, right? You can—play with your toy when we get to safety."

For a moment, it seems like she's gone too far with the needling. He freezes in a way that makes her tense up, anticipatory of a storm, but then he slowly—and so very reluctantly—holds out the weapon.

A rush of relief courses through her as her fingers envelop the cool hilt. She feels better now, more _complete_. Moreover, a small voice at the back of her mind whispers about another milestone—the path to her undesirable future began with a scuffle over Ben's ancestral blade. Now that he's offered it to her willingly, she's derailed herself into a different course. One that is as dark and infinite in its possibilities as the galaxy behind the cracked viewport. It's a terrifying thought—but also just a little freeing. 

From here on out, she gets to dictate her own destiny.

Out of nowhere, a shrill voice cuts through their private bubble, starting them both. 

"What—is the meaning of this..?"

A spindly ginger-haired man in the most pristine uniform she's ever seen marches out of the turbolift. Based on the snippets of intel she's overheard from the Resistance, Rey surmises that it must be General Hux. Putrid rage boils up inside her as she struggles to keep still. This vile man is responsible for the extermination of the Hosnian system, for the strictly enforced Stormtrooper program that has defiled millions of lives, her own best friend's included. Then she remembers that he's but a small taste of the kind of people she'll be seeing on a daily basis.

Something within her shrivels up and dies. 

Hux's eyes are this side of deranged as he approaches, flitting from one dead Praetorian guard to the next. Once they land on the bisected remains of Snoke, he loses it.

" _You_ !" He points a finger at Ben and strides over to him, brushing past Rey like she's _nothing_. "What did you do?!"

Ben affects nonchalance. "Is there a problem, general?"

"Is there—" he sputters, flushing a deep crimson. "Is there a _problem_ ?! Our Supreme Leader is dead, we have no _leader_ —"

"Snoke was no longer fit to carry out a task of this scale," Ben intones. "Now that the galaxy is ours, a change in leadership was in store. After all, he was the one to tell me that regrowth was the quickest after a fire."

His cool demeanor seems to have the opposite effect on the general, agitating him even further. Rey wonders if Ben's doing this on purpose. If there's a plan. 

Hux’s face twists into a grimace that is nearly comical, and he spits, "No longer fit—am I to assume that _you_ intend to take over the mantle?"

"Not _just_ me," Ben corrects and inclines his head at Rey. "Her, too."

The general’s head snaps towards her, giving her a withering look, then back at him. "This is nothing short of _treason,_ you ought to hang for this—"

In a bout of blind desperation, Hux grasps for the blaster clipped to his belt. She senses his intent—his intent to _kill_ —and acts on instinct and rage. Her teeth bared in a snarl, she charges and lands a precisely aimed kick at his Achilles tendon. He topples forward, his knees hitting the floor with a sharp thud and a grunt. Not a split second later, a blue lightsaber beam hums to life centimeters from his throat. 

As a military general, he must recognize when a fight is lost. He raises his arms, making sure to avoid any rash movements, and goes completely stock-still as Rey breathes heavily, the weapon clasped in her hand. 

The beam is shaking. Rey blinks and realizes that it's _her_ , that every part of her body is protesting under a suffocating urge to unleash her anger upon this deplorable man.

 _He would deserve it_ , a little voice tells her. _It would be so easy and quick, and he would deserve it._

She ignores it for now. 

"One move," she hisses, "and you're _dead_."

Over Hux's shoulder, Rey catches Ben's eyes. There's an unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his gaze, one that unnerves more than soothes. Like he's just won a round in some kind of game. 

"The scavenger, I assume?" The sardonic tones in Hux's voice fail to conceal the rigid line of shoulders. "My, my, how the mighty have fallen." 

"My _name_ is Rey, you worthless—"

"She's with us now," Ben cuts across, and his eyes flicker over to her. "Isn't she?"

Her throat knots up; it's as if all the air is sucked out of the room at once, leaving her breathless. This is it, then. One little word, and she'll plunge headfirst into an abyss.

_All the Jedi, all alone._

"Yes."

The throne room lapses into silence. She extinguishes the lightsaber and stares down at her hands, willing them to stop shaking. Hux gets up, angling himself to peer at her. The way his gaze slithers down the length of her body, mouth wrinkling with contempt, makes her skin crawl. 

"All of this—for some _girl_ ," he sneers.

"This _girl_ is the last piece we need to decimate the Resistance for good," Ben says levelly as he walks over to the oculus. Whatever it is that he sees in its magnifying glass depths fills with him contentment, and he places his hands on the rim. "They're currently retreating into that abandoned base, no doubt equipped with a comms system. And yet no one is coming to their aid. Did you notice that, Hux? Not a single rogue cell." His voice tightens, eyes shining with triumph. "They’re done. Their fleet is obliterated. Once they learn that the last Jedi has joined our ranks, they’ll crumble from within."

Hux takes a step forward. "Are you suggesting that we—let them _go_?"

Ben gazes down at the device for a few long moments as Rey waits, her breath bated. Heartbeat picking up. She almost doesn't dare to hope.

And yet. 

"Yes," Ben finally says, and relief washes over her like a wave. "We’re withdrawing our forces. Let the survivors spread the word of their defeat. Of how their distress call fell on deaf ears."

"This is _madness_ ," Hux protests, appalled. "Sheer lunacy! The girl put you up to this, I know she did." He shoots her a venomous look. "If you want someone to spread their legs for you that badly, there are _far_ cheaper options out th—"

Rey is still processing his words when choking sounds begin to splinter from mouth, leaving the sentence unfinished. His feet are lifted off the ground. She watches as he kicks around helplessly, as an invisible hand closes around his throat. Ben has whipped around, his hand outstretched. Not letting up despite the strangled whimpers. The dark side flows in him like a river, and he takes from its bottomless depths without giving it a second thought. With how consumed he is, how _angry_ , he could easily go too far. 

That's fine. He can choke him to death for all she cares. 

Eventually, Ben does let go, and Hux crumples to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. He writhes there, coughing and gasping for breath, his face blue around the edges. Ben lumbers back over to them both, oozing cold authority. 

"I suggest you rethink your priorities, general," he says with the barest hint of derision. "Because if your loyalty lies with Snoke instead of the First Order's prosperity, we will have a problem in our hands."

Instead of answering—Rey isn't sure he's even able to—Hux spits out some blood on the floor. Not looking up as if that could hide the murder in his eyes. Ben huffs, making no effort to help him up. 

_This is normal for them_ , she realizes. _The hostility, the backstabbing, the never-ending violence… It will become normal for me, too._

And then— 

_What did I do?_

* * *

The short trip to the _Finalizer_ is fraught with silence. Rey is finally allowed to catch her breath, which she does while Ben effortlessly navigates the fields of debris. It's everywhere, pieces of the _Supremacy's_ hull and chunks of various scrap, swirling and twirling like a swarm of insects. Larger ships wouldn't be able to pass through the area unscathed, but Snoke's escape craft is just agile enough to do the job, especially under as firm a guiding hand as his. 

She slumps back in her chair. Ben’s full focus is on what lies behind the viewport whereas she can't quite tear her eyes from him. 

It's the strangest dissonance she's ever felt. 

She's seen his soul bared in front of her, his fears, things he's locked away so deep he’d deny their very existence, and he's seen hers in turn. But she has no idea what he likes for breakfast, what his laughter sounds like, what he busies himself with in his spare time—if he even has any.

They're tied on a delicate string, so interconnected that she can _feel_ him like a phantom limb even when she shuts her eyes. Even now, she senses an undercurrent of distress underneath his composed exterior. What its source is, she doesn't know, and neither can she reach out and comfort him because they are— 

"Strangers," she says. "We are strangers."

He gives her a sidelong glance. "Not for long. We'll have time now, once the dust settles."

" _If_ it settles," she points out in skeptical tones. "You seem awfully calm for someone who just committed treason. Hux was right, you know. I don't see how your High Command will ever be okay with this." 

"Leave them to me."

His voice is bridled with such _conviction_ that Rey perks up, just a little. "So what's the game plan? Do you have some kind of leverage I'm unaware of?"

His mouth twitches, though it's impossible to tell whether it's from amusement or irritation. "I believe you're overestimating the planning that went into this."

"Oh?" Her brow furrows. "To what extent?"

"There was none."

Her posture caves in on itself as she sags down the seat's backrest, eyes falling shut. If this was any other day, any other occasion, she'd be hit with an intense migraine right about now. Instead, there’s only detachment, like she's some weightless, floating thing that observes the unfolding scene from above. 

They're heading straight into the viper's nest, and there's no _plan_ . He'd killed Snoke, his own master, on a _whim_.

 _For you_ , a little voice whispers. _He killed him and risked everything for you._

Still, she can't quite bring herself to comment on the _insanity_ of what they're attempting, and so she sits there. That is, until the deep rumble of Ben's voice shakes her out of her musings. 

"What did you see?" he asks. 

"What did I—what do you mean?"

"Back in the throne room, right after I offered you my hand," he says as he tilts to ship to coast through a tight opening, "you had another vision, didn't you?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

She really doesn't. Discussing the destiny she'd glimpsed—the terrible, lonely destiny where she'd wind up back where she started—would make it real, which is the last thing she wants to do. 

"That's not fair," he says. "You're still hiding something."

"That's normal, isn't it?" she queries. "No two people are a hundred percent open _all_ the time."

"We're different."

Rey snickers. "You _want_ us to be different."

"You know what I mean."

With that, he pulls the ship into a sharp turn and swivels it around. Now that some distance has been put between them and the _Supremacy_ , they're able to assess its damage. 

Rey's breath catches in her throat. She's never seen anything like it, didn't know this was _possible_. The ship—or what is left of it—is split in two, so neatly it could've been done with a scalpel. Every second, hundreds of tiny escape vessels pour out from its many hangars, the aerospace around bustling with life as survivors flee to the nearest intact dreadnought. Ben's face is impassive, dark eyes glittering in the dim starlight. 

"This ship housed more than two million personnel," he intones quietly. "They all have to be relocated and reassigned, and a census needs to be conducted to find out the death toll. It's going to be chaos for a few days. The High Command will flounder without proper leadership, and electing one through means they'd approve of would take too long. Cause too much internal dispute. We can use that for our advantage."

It's funny. She _hears_ his words, but their meaning turns fuzzy just before they reach her ears, like they're comming each other from different corners of the galaxy and the uplink is garbled on her end. Maybe she's reached her limit for today. 

Rey gives up and stares at the apocalyptic scene ahead. She thinks about Finn, how he was the first friend she ever had, and how little time they ended up spending together before she had to leave for Ahch-To. She hopes he made it. If anyone deserved to live, it was him. 

"If you say so," she finally says, with far too big a delay. 

Ben sets the escape craft on course for the _Finalizer_ —another looming patch of darkness blocking out the stars. It's one thing to hear about the First Order's ordnance, about their seemingly endless fleet, and another to see it in person. The firing has stopped, but the ships are still amassed near Crait's orbit like they're waiting to blow it to pieces. 

The Resistance never stood a chance. 

Ben turns to her. "Rey, we're almost there. I'd like to say my ranking will be enough to stop any attempts at open hostility, but—stay with me, just in case." His voice takes on a softer note. "You ready?"

"Absolutely not." She takes a steadying breath, imagining that it's starlight instead of air that fills her. That she's one with the universe, far removed and impossible to hurt. "But there's no going back now. Let's do this." 

  
  


* * *

From the moment they descend the gangway, everything is a blur. The adrenaline must have worn off because Rey is barely able to stand upright. Her brain is on the verge of shutting down, and her vision starts to swim, and Ben notices because his hand closes around her wrist and all but drags her through the thick throng. She's mostly unresisting, too dazed to care.

The dreadnought is at an uproar. Various Stormtrooper divisions rush back and forth the hangar as many other First Order ships make their descent. The noise is deafening: the roar of engines, the barking of orders, the thud of heavy footsteps against the reflective, black floors. His grip on her is the only thing keeping her grounded to reality. From floating away, limp and weightless.

Apart from some perplexed looks, nobody pays Rey any mind. Maybe Ben has a habit of forcibly bringing in girls. She'd ask, but she doesn't want to know. 

People do notice him, however. They can't progress more than ten paces without getting stopped. Officers, higher-ranking Stormtroopers, other military personnel—everyone in close proximity, really—turn to Ben for answers and guidance, bombarding him with questions that go straight through her ears. Some, he graces with a short answer, others, he acknowledges with a nod. Still others, he ignores entirely.

Eventually, they make it through the hangar. Ben leads Rey down a series of corridors, all squeaky clean and in the same grayscale color scheme, all virtually indistinguishable from one another. 

The further into the innards they go, the fewer people they meet, which is good because Rey isn't sure how long she'll be able to make it before collapsing. He seems to have arrived at the same conclusion—his pace quickens accordingly. Two turbolifts and several winding hallways later, they arrive at a wide hydraulic door with two guards and a keypad.

The Stormtroopers stand unmoving as Ben punches in the code, but Rey can sense the invisible weight of their gaze. She knows exactly what they're thinking without trawling the Force, the same thing Hux was thinking, what everyone must be thinking. But that's a problem for another day. 

The door hisses open. Instead of leading off into private chambers like she'd expected, it's just another gray hallway.

"This wing contains the quarters for all of the High Command," Ben explains, responding to her unspoken question. "Naturally, yours will also be located here."

"I thought it was considered unwise to house all the high-ranking members in one part of the ship," she asks while she looks around. "Best not let your enemies catch wind of this. One expertly aimed missile and you'd all be blown to smithereens."

He doesn't reply, but the line of his shoulders goes rigid. 

A short flight of stairs and another corridor leads them to an unmarked door. Like the previous checkpoint, this one is also locked, but the keypad is different. It's a smooth square of dark glass, red lights flickering just beneath the surface. Rey watches as Ben lets go of her and removes his glove, then presses his right palm against it. A second later, it lets out a beep—the happiest sound she's heard on any First Order premises—and the door springs open.

"Identi-locks. Fancy."

"Essential," he corrects. "The Force always protects me, but the others would be left defenseless if it weren't for these extra security measures."

"Snoke was protected better than anyone."

Ben exhales through his nose—his equivalent of a laugh. "Snoke got what was coming to him. Come in."

Rey crosses the threshold carefully, not knowing what lies ahead. She searches the Force for any signs of immediate danger but finds none. Then the motion-sensor lights activate, and strips of glowpanels disperse the shadows in what are the most austere looking chambers she's ever set foot in.

 _Miserable_ is the word that immediately springs to mind. It's all hard surfaces in depressing shades of black and gray, with only the scarcest furniture. There's simply—nothing there save for the essentials, no personal possessions, no keepsakes of any kind, and Rey assumes that this must be the empty quarters Ben was alluding to until he says, "These are my private chambers. You'll be staying here tonight."

"What?"

He's not quite meeting her eyes. "No empty quarters are safe enough. I told you. You'll have to stay here until we get it settled."

Rey isn't quite sure what to say. This reeks of a trap. But would he do that? Would he be that dishonest? She places her hands on the durasteel door frame, shifting from one foot to the other. He is many things, Kylo Ren and Ben Solo, but somehow _dishonest_ doesn't seem to be one of them.

"It's—fine," he grits out, looking so uncomfortable she almost feels sorry for him. "You can trust me. That was the deal, right?"

"Right."

She should fight this more, she knows. In the future, when emotions come back to her, she'll be embarrassed about how easily she'd let this slide. But she is exhausted, so exhausted that it's not only out of hesitation that she's clutching the doorframe. 

As Rey takes a small step into his chambers, a spell breaks, and Ben springs into action. He goes to rummage through a desk drawer, producing a small first aid kit that he promptly drops on to the desk. 

"Here," he says. "You're bleeding."

She follows his gaze to her right bicep, finding it streaked with blood. It's the most color she's seen since stepping foot inside the ship, bright red in the gloom, oozing from a twisting gash she'd gotten at the fight. She blinks down at it, uncomprehending. The cut is deep; it looks like it should _hurt_ , but it doesn't. The all-encompassing apathy must have dulled her other senses as well.

Thank the stars for small mercies.

She plucks the kit and plops down onto the side of the bed, thankful that she has a small, manageable task to take her mind off everything else. Ben mills around for a moment, lingering by the desk. As if he's afraid to step closer to what is _his_ bed. 

"I have some things I need to take care of first," he says. "Can I leave you here by yourself?"

She nods without lifting her eyes, her tongue between her teeth as she unpeels a bacta patch. It's military-grade, the fancy kind the Resistance never had the funds for. She's left the wound untreated too long for it not to scar, but the medicine should be potent enough to close it up by tomorrow. The septic smell is sharp and real, the most real thing here. She breathes it in, concentrating on that and nothing else. 

"I'll be right back." When Ben reaches the door, he stops abruptly. "There's nowhere for you to run so don't even try."

She should fight this, too.

She doesn't.

  
  
  


* * *

Anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours could've passed, but when Ben returns, she's exactly where he left her. Her fist has closed around the crumpled bacta wrapper, and her bones are heavy as if they're made of lead, and she hasn't moved at all since he disappeared. 

A look of concern crosses his face as he drops to his knees in front of her. 

"Rey." His voice is soft. "You're in shock. If there's anything I can do, you need to tell me."

She shakes her head, in part to clear some of the built-up fog. "Just need to sleep it off, I think."

His gaze lingers on her face, and she can sense him reaching out with the Force. Slowly, tentatively, like a wild animal meeting its kin, his Force signature brushes hers once, just around the edges. It's quick and painless, nothing like the first time they'd done something similar, and he gets up, satisfied with what he's found. 

They don't discuss the temporary sleeping arrangement because there's nothing to discuss. Unless either of them volunteers to sleep on the floor or on the chair next to the desk, the bed will have to suffice. 

And it does, though barely. 

The sheets are by far the softest thing in his chambers, she will give it that much, but it's the size that's the issue. It's not meant for two people. Or, rather, it's not meant for two people trying to keep physical contact to a minimum. Rey is forced into a different position than her normal one—her arms folded underneath her, her chin tucked on top—so as to keep her limbs from bumping into his wide frame, and even then she's balancing too close to the edge of the bed.

He's on his back, head angled slightly towards her, watching her. Watching her as she watches _him_ , as she examines every plane and hollow of his face before sleep finally carries her away. It's completely silent, this standstill of theirs, silent and maybe a little _curious_. 

She's fought with him, talked with him, cried with him, but she's never simply— _been_ with him. 

It's more than a little strange. He's more relaxed than she's ever seen him, eyes half-lidded as they flitter across her face, and she knows that at this moment she mirrors him in full. The lights are dimmed, but she can still make out the clear outline of his aquiline nose, every birthmark and freckle that dot his pale skin, his full lips that should be incongruous with the rest of his sharp features but somehow aren't. 

She thinks about her vision again. It's growing fainter along the edges now, like a dream after waking up, and she takes it as a good sign. What she can't figure out, however, is where _he_ fit into it. She'd seen all of her friends towards the end there, even if just for a moment. Not him, though. Granted, he's not her _friend_ ; it was barely a week ago that they'd had a bloody duel in the snow, but it strikes her as _strange_ that he'd be omitted from her vision like that. Almost deliberately, like there's a hole in his shape that's missing from its tapestry. She wonders why that is. Like it or not, it's become clear to her that their destinies are somehow intertwined. 

Or, at least, they're _supposed_ to be. Separating one from the other throws the whole thing off-balance.

She's still studying his face when the mental exhaustion finally catches up with her body. Not a second later, she's sound asleep. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I’m so incredibly sorry for the hiatus, I promise I have every intention of finishing this fic. Long story short: towards the end of the summer, the quarantine finally got to me. I wasn’t in the best place mentally, and then some irl things came up,  
> which is why I got hit by a mean case of writer’s block. But I’m back now, and I proudly present Chapter 2, in which Rey takes a shower and our two space dummies argue over nothing. A _lot_. 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

When Rey wakes up, her head feels like it's stuffed to the brim with cotton. She blinks open her eyes slowly, groggily as the thick curtain of sleep starts to lift. For a split second, she doesn't recognize her surroundings. Heartbeat picking up, she scrambles to an upright position, for a split second thinking she's been kidnapped. After all, it wouldn't be the first time, would it?

She's been in an austere chamber like this, an eternity and just a few days ago. Except this time, instead of an interrogation rack, she's in a bed with dark satin sheets. Alone. Under the cold light of the glowpanels, they shimmer like waves in a dark sea, shifting and twisting around her. Then it all finally clicks, and Rey sinks back down. 

This morning— _is_ it the morning?—her body is stiff, her limbs made of lead. All telltale signs of having slept for an inordinate amount of time. 

Today will be a long day. 

For now, she rests her eyes for just a moment longer.

Her hand sneaks to her right, palm down. Confirming something she already knows. The space on the mattress beside her is cold. He'd fallen asleep there, but for how long? 

Eventually, a nagging sense of restlessness forces her out of bed. The silence presses up against her skull with the insistence of a migraine. As she gets up, the motion sensors activate and the illumination increases, dispelling the lingering shadows. 

The floor is cold against her bare feet. Her tunic, belt, socks and boots—the only pieces of clothing she'd dared remove last night—lay on the floor right next to the bed in one earth-toned heap. It occurs to her that she didn't even bring a change of clothes, didn't bring _anything_. She never owed much in the first place, but the absence of her quarterstaff's familiar weight across her back rings with loss. 

She'd fashioned it from various bits and pieces of Jakku scrap. A duffle bag strap here, a titanium rod there—it was the only piece of home she'd brought with her. Gone, now. Left with Chewie, never to be seen again. She swallows hard and steels herself.

Not now.

Without the fog of exhaustion, she can get a better lay of her surroundings. It's as if the bedchamber is designed to prevent dillydallying, omitting anything that would provide even the modicum of comfort. Apart from the bed, a nightstand, and a desk, there's nothing in here save for a door presumingly leading to the 'fresher and some sliding panels on the wall. Rey pads across the floor, curious, and slides open the nearest one. It's a wardrobe. She takes stock of its contents, scoffs, and closes it. 

Leaving the 'fresher for last, she then ventures out through the other doorway into an antechamber of sorts. They'd passed through here yesterday, but Rey had been too addled to take it in. Today, she can safely surmise that it's even smaller than the bedchamber. The far corner is furnished with a couch—black, always black—and in front of it, along the wall there is—

Rey's heart skips a beat. She instinctively steals a glance at the exit portal, like the mere act of her making this discovery would be enough to summon him here. 

Nothing.

Where is he, anyway? Tentatively, so as not to draw too much attention, she reaches out with Force. Locating his energy isn't hard, not when they're in such relatively close proximity. His Force signature is moonlight on a clear night, clear and perennial and at the very edge of her awareness. Strangely comforting in a way she refuses to examine.

Emboldened, she reaches in a little further, dipping into his energy like one would test out the temperature of water. Just to make sure he's okay, she reasons. Because if he isn't, they'll be coming after her, next. 

He seems okay, wherever he is. Stable—or as stable as he can be—if a little tense. She draws back as inconspicuously as she'd reached out and goes back to the task at hand.

Right.

The private communications panel. An encrypted channel, completely untraceable. Invaluable. Her mind reels with possibilities to the staccato of her racing heart. 

She could comm her friends and tell them she's okay. She _has_ to. 

In her mind's eye, Rey sees Chewie pacing around the Falcon. Once in a while, a frustrated growl escapes his lips as he waits for Rey to come back. As he watches from afar as the Supremacy is turned into debris and stardust. 

Stars, they must think that she's _dead_. 

Or do they? Her imagination—or maybe the Force—conjures her another insight, like a curtain opening through space and time. 

_"They're retreating!" a man in a dusky flight jacket bellows, his voice tinged with equal parts relief and disbelief. He looks over his shoulder to the rest of the rebels clustering at some kind of command bridge, a white-and-red wasteland laying before them on the other side of the transparisteel screen. "I don't know why, but they're retreating!"_

_"My, oh my!" Threepio waddles on his feet. "I do believe you're right. How extraordinary!"_

_"What? Give me that," Finn—it's_ Finn _—yanks a pair of binoculars out of the pilot's arms and peers at the scene. He's silent for a long time. "I don't understand," he says. "They backed us into a corner… Why come all this way just to withdraw? Why not finish the job?"_

_"Perhaps it's the allied fleet?" prompts a sheepish-looking woman. "Maybe they came to our aid after all."_

_"Do you see anyone?" croaks a sullustan, his bottomless, black eyes fixed to the skyline. A beat passes, and he adds, "Eh? I was genuinely asking—my eyesight's not what it used to be."_

_The pilot exhales a laugh, half-hysterical, and claps Finn on the shoulder. "I don't know what's going on, buddy, but it's our lucky day!"_

_Slowly, almost shily, the rebels exchange glances and sigh. It's too good to be true, they all know it. But they're also still reeling from the loss of their navy. Their friends. Any shred of hope, no matter how fleeting, they will latch onto like a vise. Relief passes through them like a wave, quiet at first, as they come to terms with living to fight another day. Then the laughter starts, and hugs, growing and growing in volume, until it erupts into unabashed cheers._

_Finn puts down the binoculars. He's unaffected by the celebration, the line of his mouth still firm. "They're not retreating. They're leaving like they got what they wanted."_

_This time, he's addressing someone specific._

_General Organa nods, looking oh-so weary when she says, "Something's telling me it's not a question of what they got, but who."_

The imprints of her friends' faces are still swimming at the edges of her vision, looking down at her like ghosts as she fumbles for the activation switch. She should've done this yesterday, but she'd been so tired, so selfish… 

A constellation of lights blink to life. At that, a sigh of relief rocks her shoulders. But then— 

_Damn it._

"No, no, no," she mutters, frantically pushing at the buttons. "Don't do this, not now…"

After several moments of fruitless efforts, she gives up with an exasperated huff. Rey bows her head and breathes, trying to summon her calm, but anger boils over before she can help it, and she whacks the panel with her hand in frustration. His comm unit is outfitted with the same identity lock as Ben’s front door. Meaning that it's a beeping and booping hunk of durasteel to her until _he_ unlocks it for her. 

Hope, when snatched away, _hurts_. 

She spends a precious minute there, her hands clutching the edges of the panel. Breathing. 

  
  


* * *

Not knowing what else to do, Rey decides to have a shower. For all the security measures, the 'fresher door doesn't have a lock so she makes quick work of untangling the knots from her hair with her fingers and undressing, not wanting to be naked in the Supreme Leader Kylo Ren's suite for a second longer than needed. Like the rest of his chamber, the 'fresher is small. Dark tiles stretch and glisten from underneath her feet all the way up to the ceiling. 

Nineteen long years under a strict water conservation regiment have left a mark. Once the shower spray is on, Rey doesn't waste time. Her movements are quick and efficient as she scrubs, lathers, and rinses under the hiss of the spray. The soothing sensation of water cascading down her body is a welcome reprieve. A warm hug in this cold, sterile place. It lulls her into relaxing, if only a little, into feeling like a person instead of a maudlin scarecrow. 

The shampoo smells like ripe, sun-kissed fruit of some unknown variety, so delicious that she licks a tiny speck that's fallen on her arm. Back on Jakku, a single bar of soap would serve all her hygienic needs—she can't be faulted for being a little _curious_. That, and she hasn't eaten since—is it yesterday or the day before? As the pearlescent substance hits her tongue, she grimaces, sputtering. 

It turns out shampoo doesn't taste as good as it smells. 

How disappointing.

When she hops out of the shower, a black towel wrapped around her middle, there's a little more spring to her step. With all the combat residue cleaned off, her mind also feels refreshed. Sharper. 

One of her primary objectives right now is to locate a comms room or somesuch. In, out, quick and easy. Surely, there must be at least _one_ unit here that she can access. 

More immediately, however, she needs to locate _Ben_ . It is an alien feeling, to regard him as someone to find rather than someone to hide from. She still needs to get used to it. Not even a week ago they'd crossed blades in a whirlwind of sparks and snow as the world crumbled around them. A little _over_ a week ago, she'd sat down and tallied yet another day into the wall of her AT-AT, blissfully unaware of an intragalactic war brewing just outside her doorstep. How time flies. 

Rey pads across the tiled floor, deep in thought. She flicks a switch, the door whirs open and she— 

Runs face-first into a broad, warm chest.

The impact robs the air out of her lungs. She hadn't expected anyone to be there and, clearly, Ben is also caught off guard because he's staring at her like she's a stranger, maybe even a specter, while she clutches the towel to her chest. A few seconds of terse silence pass, periodically interrupted by the sound of water dripping from her hair. Ben is frozen, his lips a little parted, and Rey—

Rey _growls_.

"Excuse me, were you planning on barging in?!"

He's looking everywhere but her now. "I came back and you weren't here."

Two more drops of water fall to the floor, and then the third. 

"You thought I'd run off."

Instead of confirming or denying what Rey already knows to be true, Ben takes a small, tottering step back and jerks his head in the vague direction of the bed. 

"I brought you some clothes," he says. "Thought you might need them."

"What's wrong with my old ones?" she asks prickishly, well aware of what's wrong. But that's not the point. The point is that he'd thrown her for a loop, and now she's itching for a fight. 

"You know what."

"I really don't. Pray tell."

A muscle twitches in his jaw. "Rey, the First Order is fresh off losing a flagship, and the previous Supreme Leader has been assassinated—by _me_. There are fires to douse at every division, possibly even mutinies to quell, so don't waste my time by making me babysit you. Take the clothes."

Rey loathes the tone that he's using, the condescending one suggesting she just doesn't _get_ it. That there's some cosmic plan she's not privy to. But there's grim satisfaction in it, too. She's managed to rile him up. To pour some of her own frustration into him. 

" _You_ were the one who wanted me here," she reminds him. "This was your idea."

"My idea that _you_ agreed to. This was your choice."

 _Barely_ , she almost adds. _If the Force hadn't_ _intervened_ …

"I didn't ask for any of this."

He steps forward at that, incensed. "What do you want, then? Tell me."

"I don't _know_!" 

A heavy pause follows, so long that a small puddle forms where Rey is standing. The sound of water, dripping and dripping, marking the time like a clock. 

Rey sighs, shoulders deflating. Falling back to their old ways, the push-and-pull of light and dark is easy. Natural. What everyone in the galaxy expects of them. Working together is harder. She brushes past him and heads for the bed, the unfinished argument hanging heavy in the air. He turns too, though without following her, his gaze bearing down on her nape with the smoldering heat of a dying fire. 

She assesses what's laid out in front of her. All black, of course.

"Training attire," he explains from the other side of the chamber. "Had to guess your size. You can—and should—pick up something else for yourself as you'll have full access to our inventory. But this should do for today. Until you get your uniform."

_Her uniform._

Rey wants to be more critical of what he'd picked out for her, but after examining each item up close, she regretfully concedes that he's chosen well. Simple, efficient. Just the way she likes it. The sweater is made from the softest, most breathable cotton, the kind that costs an arm and a leg. She could do without the shoulder pads, but looking like a rectangle is all the rage over here, apparently. Rey presses her lips together and goes on to inspect the trousers and the utility belt. No complaints on that front.

Ben's Force signature flickers with uncertainty. 

"Will this be alright?" he asks. "I can send for a droid to fetch you a different size—"

Rey gathers it all up in her arms. The clothes smell clean, like fresh snow. "No, no." This should be the time to say thank you, but she can't force the word out of her mouth. "It's, uh, fine."

He nods, stiffly. 

"You do need to get dressed," he says. "Today will be a long day—even if you did sleep through most of it."

Rey lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, Ben. I _know_."

Her shoulders, arms and legs begin to prickle with cooling water. She wishes he'd leave so that she can change. She wishes he'd come closer so that they don't have to talk at an awkward distance. 

As if having guessed the direction of her thoughts, Ben asks, "Is there anything else you need? In terms of—everything." Rey doesn't know what to say, not immediately, so he continues, "Lodging, weaponry, perhaps a ship of your own. Your options are boundless. There's no limit to what you can acquire. To what I can give you."

He's being too much again, caught up in a fantasy of his own making. She can tell by the way his eyes grow brighter with each word. That's one of his great faults—one of his _many_ great faults. If he wants something, he'll want to take it all, all at _once_. The power and influence he'd had weren't enough—he needed to rule the galaxy. Being her one-time ally wasn't enough—he'd offered her his hand then and there. If there's something he desires, he'll rather collapse like a dying star in an effort to get it than give up. Unless someone reins him in, talks him down. 

Rey does just that. 

"I'll have to think about this," she guardedly says. "For now, a breakfast would be a start."

  
  


* * *

They're walking down a hallway so long Rey can't see where it begins or ends, Ben's cape swishing in front of her. The effect is dizzying, in this seemingly endless passage of pentagonal archways and impeccably polished floors. Overwhelming and somehow claustrophobic all at once. Every once in a while, their paths cross with patrolling Stormtroopers and other staff members yielded by the various intersections. Their reaction is always the same: they freeze, snap their heels and salute, waiting on the pair to pass.

Ben takes no notice, his shoulders hunched, and then it's back to the sound of their footsteps, the soft rustle of his cape.

Neither speak.

He'd promised, hadn't he, that they'd talk. That they'd have time to do so now. This would be the perfect opportunity to start, maybe a _Did you sleep well? No? Me neither_ or a _I had the strangest dream last night._ If they were friends, these are kinds of things they could chat about. 

But they aren't. 

After a while, they reach a section where the left wall gives way to a section made of transparisteel that looks over an enormous mess hall. Ben barely spares it glance, but Rey pauses, captivated. Hundreds if not thousands of unmasked stormtroopers crowd the area far below. A swarm of white, like a blizzard in slow motion.

She's never seen this many people at once. 

"Is this where we're going?" Rey asks.

"No." Ben keeps walking, and she's forced into a trot to catch up. "You missed breakfast so I'm taking you to the lounge. It will have some light refreshments. Enough for you to last until dinner, at least."

Something twists in her stomach. She can already imagine what kind of _crowd_ will be milling about there. If Hux was anything to go by, she won't be able to keep her food down. 

"I could eat down there with the soldiers," she chirps up, a last-ditch effort.

"No, Rey," he says, quietly. "You can't."

She harrumphs, falling into step beside his hulking figure. "You're treating me like a captive, you know. Mutual trust. That was the deal."

"Prove to me that you can stay out of trouble first. Then we can negotiate how to proceed." Even though there's no one within earshot, he lowers his voice. "I wouldn't let a captive sleep in my bed, would I?"

"I don't know," she snaps. "Would you?"

He halts in his tracks, staring straight ahead. She watches as he takes a breath, his gloved hand clenching and unclenching at his side. Then he turns to her, finally, as if the mere act of meeting her eyes in such close proximity takes a toll on him. Dark circles, the color of bruises, bloom against his pale skin.

She can't bring herself to feel sorry for him. 

He says, "I'm trying to explain the rules. If you want to rule by my side—if we're really going to do this—there are some lines you can't cross. Eating with your subordinates is one of them. That much should be obvious."

"If you really wanted me to be your equal, I should be able to go and do as I please."

"And you can," he stresses, craning his neck down as if to emphasise a point. "Within _reason_."

The thing is, she _knows_ he's being somewhat sincere. It's all written on his face, so heartbreakingly expressive when he's not hiding behind a mask. There's frustration there, at her pushing his buttons, and exhaustion, and the perennial well of anger anger simmering just beneath the surface because they just _can't_ get along. But then, so fleeting it could simply be her imagination, she sees flickers of _hope_ , too. He wants to make her understand, even though there are still so many things they haven't figured out.

"What happened to your mask?" she blurts out. "I haven't seen it in—forever."

He blinks, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. 

"Is there something wrong with my face?" he asks wryly, cocking an eyebrow. She must have struck a nerve, there's no other explanation for this sudden burst of defensiveness. That, or he's _teasing_. 

"What? No, I meant—" By gods, is she _blushing_? Rey grits her teeth and wills the heat from her face to dissipate. "You know what, forget it."

The moment stretches out as they stare at each other, having reached an odd impasse. But, somehow, the silence has less teeth than it did before. 

Ben sighs, softly. "Listen, Rey—"

"Supreme Leader Ren."

A small cluster of officers are standing at the nearest intersection, having snuck up on them while the two were talking. One of them—the one who drew the short straw, if Rey were to hazard a guess—has stepped forward, his back ramrod straight. 

"Yes?" Ben asks. "What is it?"

"Sir, we've tallied up the last of the survivors. A full census report has been prepared, as per your request." The officer's gaze flicks to Rey and back. "If you'd spare a minute..."

Ben, too, glances down at her, eyes flickering with uncertainty. It doesn't take a Force-sensitive to tell the root of his dilemma. Either he lets her listen in on classified information or sends her off to breakfast. Alone. Dark triumph swells in her chest as she realizes that he's calculating, rather desperately, which option would bring less harm to _him_. 

Rey's stomach makes that choice for him. It makes a _noise_ , like that of a dying animal, loud enough that he sighs as the officer turns his head away. 

"Fine," he grudgingly mumbles. " _Fine_. Go. The lounge is right down the hall and to the right."

She's already off, sauntering past him, the first whispers of freedom filling her lungs. He grabs her wrist at the last second, forcing her to turn back around. 

"Promise me that you'll behave," he implores, voice pitched low enough for only her to hear. 

She shakes off his hand, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. 

"I promise that I'll do my best," she says. And then adds, a little more softly, "Trust me _._ "

The weight of his gaze is a permanent fixture on her back all the way until she turns a corner. And even then, when she's safely out of sight, she can sense wisps of his Force energy trailing her like a specter that haunts her every step. 

For all their talk of honesty and openness and cooperation, he doesn't trust her. Not really.

They still have a long, long way to go.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey is just getting a late brunch.  
> Surely, NOTHING can go wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t forget to feed the writer by leaving kudos and/or comments! Every little bit helps. ❤️
> 
> Give me a follow on [Tumblr](https://themoonmoths.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/themoonmoths)!


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